Mist swirls towards me from the wood. There’s a crackle of
twigs from a tentative footfall. A white shape moves through the trees onto open ground.

It’s a woman in a crumpled shroud. She sees me and starts
to shuffle in my direction. Her head rolls to one side as if her neck can’t support it. Her face is a putrid gray. Long
chestnut hair hangs limply down her shoulder.